


I Knew You Were Trouble

by imaginationtherapy



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Endeavour Morse Needs a Hug, Fluff, Human Disaster Endeavour Morse, M/M, Max is a better person than Morse lets be real, Mild Hurt/Comfort, nobody almost dies? what is this!, so does max tbh, soft, with a dash of h/c for flavor, yeah its actually more fluffy than anything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23381104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationtherapy/pseuds/imaginationtherapy
Summary: “I worry about you.” Morse opened his mouth to protest, and Max layed a silencing finger across his lips. “No, hush. I do.Morse has run himself ragged once again and nearly collapses in DeBryn's morgue. Max finds himself putting Morse back together, and has to admit that he doesn't really mind--so long as it keeps Morse out of harm's way.In other words: Morse being himself, Max being a saint, and a little bit of softness in this hard world.Alternatively: Morse is dumb, Max sighs a lot.
Relationships: Max DeBryn/Endeavour Morse
Comments: 11
Kudos: 63





	1. Any Way to Distract and Sedate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iloveyoudie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/gifts).



> I felt like flexing my Morse/Max game a bit, and wanted to write something for iloveyoudie just because.
> 
> I'm liable to come back and add to this at some point. Who knows when...maybe tomorrow maybe next month maybe in an hour. Time is an illusion and writing is a coping mechanism.
> 
> Enjoy some soft Max/Morse.

“You’re a bloody disaster, Morse.” DeBryn eyed Morse critically. “When did you last sleep?”

Morse squinted at DeBryn, clearly having difficulty coming up with an answer. Finally he shrugged. The movement nearly unbalanced him, and he staggered backwards into the wall.

“Don’t know. Doesn’t matter. What’s...what’s the verdict?” He nodded at the shrouded corpse on DeBryn’s table.

DeBryn was not to be distracted. Morse looked to be half drunk with the way he was swaying on his feet. The dark shadows under his eyes suggested lack of sleep rather than alcohol, but knowing Morse, it could be either. Or both. The man was too pale, his late summer freckles standing out against a white backdrop.

DeBryn huffed and moved around the table towards Morse. Regardless of whether any scotch had played a role in Morse’s current state, Max had a duty to carry out. Morse couldn’t keep going like this, looking like a strong breeze would topple him over. 

“Mrs. Tindsdale can wait a moment, Morse.” Max wrapped his hand around Morse’s arm. “You look as if you should have a seat.”

“I don’t need a nursemaid, Max.” Morse shook DeBryn’s hand off irritably.

“Right. You can make it out of here on your own power then, hhm?” DeBryn peered at Morse from over his glasses. 

“I got here, didn’t I?” Morse snapped. He spun away from DeBryn--too quickly--and almost didn’t catch himself on the wall. “It’s not your job to keep tabs on my habits.”

Morse glared at DeBryn through eyes that suddenly seemed out of focus. He blinked slowly for a moment, and then his knees buckled.

Max was a hair faster than Morse, and he managed to wrap an arm around Morse’s waist before the man slid to the ground. 

“Steady on, Morse,” he murmured. Morse got his feet under him again, and DeBryn guided him towards the couch in his office. “You rather made it my job, though, didn’t you? Staggering in here half dead. What’s that about?”

His words were brusque, as always, but the hands that loosed Morse’s tie were gentle. They’d had this argument before, enough times that Max grew weary of it. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d had to flag Morse down, get some real food into him, or bully him to sleep. But he couldn’t pull himself away, couldn’t force himself to turn his back on the man. It had been hard enough to ignore Morse’s sad eyes and poet’s face before they’d fallen together. It was impossible now, months into something well past casual colleagues.

Besides, Max knew enough this time around to be a bit more gentle. The case was a brutal one-- a mass killer with a penchant for torture and Division breathing down the CID’s neck. Morse had been run ragged, and not just of his own accord. The higher ups wanted answers, Oxford wanted safety, and Thursday wanted someone behind bars. Morse’s only fault this time was his usual--a stubborn fixation with justice and the principles of police work.

“Morse?” DeBryn’s hand hovered just below Morse’s jaw, not quite touching. The man could be as skittish as a feral cat when he was like this, and as sharp as broken glass. He’d shoved Max away more than once, and Max wasn’t keen on it happening again. “Morse, are you with me?”

Morse heaved a deep breath, finally looking up at DeBryn. “Yeah. I’m...I’m here.” There was a naked honesty in his eyes as he looked up at Max. “I’m sorry, Max.” Exhaustion, frustration, and fear were etched into his face.

DeBryn let his shoulders relax. Peeling back that outer shell of Morse’s could be trickier than piecing together the last moments of one of his bodies--at least  _ they _ weren’t prone to fits of sulking or shouting. But if Morse were willing to be honest, Max might be able to do something for him. Not much, but something.

DeBryn skimmed his finger along the edge of Morse’s jaw before laying his palm against the side of Morse’s face.

“You’ll do them no good running yourself into the ground, Morse.”

Morse closed his eyes and leaned into Max’s touch. “I don’t know how to stop, Max.”

And that was the issue, wasn’t it? He didn’t know how to stop, never did. Everything Morse did, he threw himself at with a fiery passion. He never stopped to consider the outcomes, nor paused to reevaluate. Even this--whatever this was between them--Morse had tossed himself into  _ this _ with abandon. Max had been uncertain, unwilling to take that step without crystal-clear evidence, but Morse had pulled Max to him and kissed him as if the world were ending.

In hindsight, maybe that  _ was _ the evidence Max had needed. 

Max slid his fingers into Morse’s hair, gently massaging his scalp. “You could ask for help,” he muttered drily. 

Morse huffed a wry laugh. “Me? Ask for help?”

“Just a thought.” Max gave up his ministrations, choosing instead to tilt Morse’s chin up to look at him. It was odd, seeing Morse from this angle. He rarely got to look down on Morse, to study those cut-glass features in the light rather than in shadow. His fingers danced lightly across Morse’s eyebrows. “I worry about you, you know.”

Morse’s eyes darkened. “You shouldn’t.” Long fingers wrapped themselves around Max’s wandering hand and tugged it into Morse’s lap.

“Oh?” Max raised his eyebrows. “I shouldn’t, eh? And why is that? There’s certainly enough evidence to support a healthy concern. You’ve blundered into the wrong end of knives and guns and fists, and that’s when you’re not ready to collapse in my morgue.”

Morse’s fingers fiddled with the cuff of Max’s sleeve, darting underneath to tease at the skin of his wrist. Max snatched his hand back, glaring at Morse.

“Don’t you go trying to distract me, either.” Max pursed his lips, trying to ignore the wide-eyed innocent look that Morse gave him. “I’m trying to get through to you.”

“I thought you were trying to get me to stop thinking,” Morse murmured. His fingers toyed with the edge of Max’s jacket. 

Max sighed. “You’re impossible.” Max dropped his hands to Morse’s shoulders. “Morse, look at me.” 

Morse did, and Max felt his resolve melting. There was no reason-- _ no reason-- _ Morse should hold this much power over him. But he couldn’t bring himself to resent the man for it, not with the way he made Max feel  _ wanted _ in a way no one else ever had. 

“I worry about you.” Morse opened his mouth to protest, and Max layed a silencing finger across his lips. “No, hush. I do. Not because I’m tired of patching you up-- _ though I am-- _ and not because I’m tired of you looking like a bedraggled cat.” Max ran his thumb along Morse’s lips. “I care, Morse, about you. And I’d rather you make it home at night in one piece. I’d rather you come back to  _ me _ in one piece.”

Morse swallowed and took a shaky breath. “Max…”

“It’s nearly six. You’re coming home with me. No arguments.” Max’s hand curled around Morse’s neck. “I’ll call Thursday myself if I have to. You need rest, Morse, and I need to not worry about you bumbling into this maniac on just coffee and a hunch.”

Morse stared at Max for a second longer, before finally nodding. His whole body seemed to droop as he gave in.

“Good.” Max tipped Morse’s head back once again and leaned down until their lips were almost touching. “Doctor’s orders.”

He pressed his lips to Morse’s, pulling the man closer to him as he did. Morse moaned, leaning into Max’s touch, and Max knew he’d won.

If they didn’t make it out of the office for another ten minutes, no one had to know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to iloveyoudie for holding the Max/Morse ship together, and thanks to guardianoffun for her eternal fountain of prompts.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed this bit of fluff.


	2. Poison that Never Stung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had....not planned on this chapter. I planned a _paragraph_ of this, leading to a lovely conversation between these two that I have in my head.
> 
> The boys had Other Plans. *sigh* I shouldn't even be surprised at this point.

DeBryn ended up calling Thursday before they left. Morse kept fretting that Thursday would end up waiting at the station for him if he didn’t return, and Max figured the man should know where Morse was. He did tend to worry--rightly so, most times. Max was mildly amused at the fact that Morse actually remembered to report in for once, instead of leaving everyone to wonder where he had wandered off to. Morse was less amused.

Upon hearing that Morse had nearly collapsed in the morgue once again, Thursday demanded to speak to his bagman. DeBryn forced the receiver into Morse’s hands, despite the horrified expression on Morse’s face. Maybe if he heard it from two sources within the span of ten minutes, Morse might actually  _ rest _ for a while. 

He highly doubted it. 

Thursday’s lecture gave Max a chance to lock up for the evening without fear that Morse would bolt out the doors. By the time the lab was clean, Morse was just hanging up the phone. He glared up at DeBryn.

“Traitor,” he hissed. The word held little heat, any animosity replaced with a warm teasing tone that Morse only used with Max. “I could have done without that lecture.”

Max raised his eyebrows. “Not by the looks of you. Is he ready to take you off the case, then?”

Morse rolled his eyes. “No. But I’m not to report in until half past nine.” He heaved himself to his feet, waving off Max’s hand. “I’ll be alright.”

“You’re still coming to mine, Morse.” DeBryn snagged his coat from behind his desk.

Morse stared at him silently for a long moment. “Max, I don’t--”

“Hush, Morse.” Max stepped in close, curling his hand around Morse’s elbow. “Even if you did have something edible in your flat, I doubt you’d bother with it.” He offered Morse a soft smile. “Besides, I’ve hardly seen you of late.”

Morse snorted in disbelief. “You can’t ask me to believe you want  _ this _ as a dinner companion?” He gestured to his rumpled suit and half-undone tie.

“Believe it or not, Morse, I am rather fond of you.” Max wrapped his free hand around the base of Morse’s head, pulling him down for a gentle kiss. 

Morse sighed, resting his forehead against DeBryn’s. “God, I’m tired.” Morse’s voice was barely audible--it was an admission that he rarely made. Something warm blossomed in Max’s chest, knowing that he was one of the few--if not the  _ only _ one-- with whom Morse would be this honest.

“Of course you are.” Max gently massaged the tight muscles in Morse’s neck. “You’ve not bothered to ask your body about its needs. As per your usual.” Max stole another kiss before pulling back. “Now, that’s enough out of you. Home, Morse.” 

Morse graced him with one of his rare, gentle smiles. “Alright. I suppose you know a thing or two.” He tugged Max’s hand from his neck, threading his fingers through Max’s. “Home, Max.”

* * *

Once Max had bullied Morse into the car, Morse angled himself towards the driver’s seat. He looked as if he planned on resuming their conversation, but said nothing as Max started the engine. Max could feel Morse’s eyes on him, tracking his movements and following the lines of his face. 

He supposed to anyone else, Morse’s silent observation would be unnerving. He’d gotten used to it--no, that wasn’t quite right. He enjoyed it, if he was completely honest. Morse was an observer-- he preferred to stare into his surroundings, absorbing their secrets in his own unhurried way. Whether it was a painting or an opera, Morse could stand transfixed for ages, motionless as his insatiable mind consumed the beauty set before him. 

Max knew it was this same observational nature that gave Morse an edge in his profession. He also knew, though he’d never said, that it was this that wore Morse out. Morse drank in everything around him in a dizzying amount of detail--the ugly and horrid as much as the elegant and lovely. He had no way to blunt the sharp edges of the murders he bore witness to, no way to filter out the vivid reds and harsh blacks of crime and death. It was why he burned out so easily, why he turned to the bottle to quiet the cacophony in his mind, and why retreated from well-meaning colleagues who would only add to the chaos.

This, then, was something he needed--to be allowed to study something comfortable, familiar and--according to Morse,  _ lovely. _ It was something he enjoyed--to be allowed to drink Max in without reproof, without outside judgement, without comment. What exactly the man found so fascinating was beyond Max, but he allowed Morse the privilege.

And if he enjoyed Morse’s quiet contemplation, Max never admitted it out loud.

As Max pulled out of the lot, Morse's head fell against the seat and he all but melted into the upholstery. A comfortable silence settled around them, filling the spaces between them with the intangible commune of two quiet souls. Neither needed words, simply the presence of the other was enough to begin relaxing tense muscles and soothing aching souls. It was one of the unnameable things that Max treasured about Morse, this ability to simply  _ exist _ and have no need of the words or touches that cluttered up most interactions between lovers. Morse was complex and grating most times, but here, there was a simplicity to him that Max craved.

Behind closed doors, out of sight of judging eyes, many of Morse’s layers fell away. What was left behind somehow fitted into the gaps that Max had always felt so keenly in his home. It wasn’t anything that he  _ said _ \-- Morse tended to be even more silent there, with no one to prove himself too. It was in the things that he did, silently and without thinking. Max treasured his privacy, his silence, his solitude. But somehow, Morse had worked his way into that silence in a way that Max found he craved as much--if not more-- than the solitude.

Because when Morse was there, well...Morse was  _ there--  _ he was there to run his hand across Max’s back in passing-- _ you’re not alone.  _ He was there to drop an absentminded kiss on Max’s neck as they passed each other in the morning--  _ I love you. _ Morse was there to make him a cup of tea when the day had been too long--  _ take care of yourself for me. _ Morse was there to pull him close with a desperate  _ want _ that made Max dizzy--  _ let me adore you. _

He was simply  _ there,  _ existing in Max’s space, living alongside him, and somehow Max found himself dreading the times when Morse wasn’t there.

“Penny for them?” Morse murmured softly. 

Max shook himself out of his reverie. Of course Morse could tell he’d been thinking. 

Without taking his eyes off the road, Max let his hand drift until his fingers found Morse’s. He rubbed his thumb over Morse’s knuckles.

“‘ _ Two souls but with a single thought…’” _

Morse squeezed at Max’s hand, a soft huff of laughter escaping him. “‘ _ Two hearts that beat as one.’ _ You’re ridiculous, Max.”

“And yet here you are.” Max tapped his thumb on Morse’s hand in mild reproof.

Morse hummed his assent. “Wasn’t much choice.” For a moment, Max prickled-- _ well, if that’s all-- _ but then Morse’s low voice reached across the twilight towards him. “An empty room and a glass of scotch, or you. I know which I prefer.”

There wasn’t much to be said to that-- not, at least, that Max was willing to say. He settled for readjusting his grip on Morse’s hand-- _ I’d rather you as well. _ It’s enough--a language that Morse has learned to read. He sighed softly and settled further back into the seat.

Max didn’t move his hand for quite a while.

* * *

By the time they pulled into DeBryn’s drive, Morse had fallen asleep. Max took a moment to study him in the fading evening light. Morse was half curled into the seat, still turned towards Max, neck bent at what had to be an uncomfortable angle. He looked calm, and for that Max was grateful. He had seen Morse asleep many times, and too many of those times had not been peaceful.

Morse’s mind rarely seemed to shut down completely. Max knew that the cases he worked and the bodies he saw often resurfaced in the night. Sometimes they were just flashes of memories, enough to leave his forehead creased but not enough to wake him. Sometimes he woke gasping for air and fighting against whatever--or whoever--was closest to him. Max kept those secrets, never mentioning in the morning night how Morse had curled into Max’s chest as he sobbed in the darkness.

They talked about it, sometimes. But only when Morse brought it up. 

Unlike those times--more times than Max would have liked-- Morse’s face was relaxed. His body was twisted in a ridiculous fashion, but somehow his mind was at ease. 

Max turned the keys, leaving the two of them in the soft silence of the fading day. He should wake Morse--should shuffle him inside, make him eat something, get him into a proper bed.  _ In a moment. _ It was rare that he got to study Morse like this, without Morse staring curiously back at him, and he wanted to savour the opportunity.

He wasn’t the only one who knew Morse, not by far. Nor did he think himself to be the only one who had ever studied him. But a possessive part of him wondered how many took notice of the little details--the things one trained in observation would see, would delight in.

Like the uneven smattering of freckles that settled across the left side of Morse’s nose--just a tad more populous and stubborn than the right. Or the way that one ridiculous lock of hair insisted on curling over his ear-- _ just so. _ Or the way his hair was less  _ red _ or  _ brown _ and more a Van Gogh of golds and russets and crimsons all swirled into an impression of  _ auburn. _ Or the way he seemed to lose all semblance of age when he was asleep--becoming at once a heart-breakingly young spectre and a fey-like ancient. 

Max shook himself. Morse would wake with a crick in his neck if he persisted in these musings. Better to get the man inside and resting comfortably in bed. Then Max could drink his fill of the Homeric muse he’d manage to capture. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. There's at least one more chapter of this. Possibly two. Who knows.
> 
> I'm kind of enjoying this little story, though? I put so much pressure on myself to write Max _perfectly_ and this has just turned into kind of a character exploration that I'm doing for fun.
> 
> Also, hah. So when I started this as a fun little exercise, I didn't plan on needing chapter titles. And while Taylor Swift works well for a title, there's a bit more nuance in this relationship. Thankfully, Hozier helped me out. Chapter titles from [ Sedated. ](https://youtu.be/X-7K2ElrI4o) It fits closer to the mood i'm going for.
> 
> Well, let me know what you think! I'd love to hear your thoughts and anything you'd be interested to see in the next chapter(s). :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to iloveyoudie for holding the Max/Morse ship together, and thanks to guardianoffun for her eternal fountain of prompts.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed this bit of fluff.


End file.
